


This Sweet Sorrow Lacked Strife

by MissVoltara



Series: The Soldier and The Priest [3]
Category: Journal d'un curé de campagne | The Diary of a Country Priest - Georges Bernanos
Genre: Boys In Love, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Falling In Love, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, France (Country), Gay, Gay Sex, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Illness, Male Homosexuality, Priest Kink, Religious Guilt, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissVoltara/pseuds/MissVoltara
Summary: The priest of Ambricourt pays a visit to Olivier before his deployment to Morocco.
Relationships: Priest of Ambricourt/Monsieur Olivier
Series: The Soldier and The Priest [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143953
Kudos: 1





	This Sweet Sorrow Lacked Strife

Riding a bike in his condition was a bad idea but the priest of Ambricourt stubbornly packed up his overnight bag and peddled to Olivier's residence from Louis' lodgings anyway. He had bid M. Louis and Mlle. Louise a lengthy farewell. Both of his hosts' had a tendency to speak at length but they had finally let him go and watched him peddle down the street. 

His lungs burned from the exertion and a sharp pain stabbed him in the sternum but he persevered. The weather had been dreary and it had rained for a few days and so the roads were pitted with tire tracks that the priest had to avoid. Some parts of the road were muddier than normal and these poorly maintained sections made the priest feel light headed from the added effort he had to put forward in order to peddle through them.

He cared very little if the townspeople questioned why their parish priest was biking in a hurry. For once he cared very little for whatever gossip that would transpire from his outing. If they wanted to spread rumours about him, he didn't care. He had to go see Olivier and prayed that the soldier was home. If Olivier wasn't home than he'd come back later or tomorrow. He had to see him. He needed to see him.

He skidded to a halt in front of Olivier's home and regarded its facade. It was a modest cottage, as best as a soldier's wages could buy, with shutters, a tiled roof and a whitewashed exterior all of which had been weathered greatly. A fence surrounded the house and neatly manicured lawn and gardens. There was a narrow driveway sandwiched between Olivier's cottage and the house next door and it was there that Olivier's motor-bike was parked. Olivier very well could have used his family's wealth and influence to get a much better looking home but he didn't. 

He got off his bike and left it leaning on its kick-stand next to Olivier's motor-bike. The bicycle was an old one that he had for many years and it had spots of rust along its gray body. Much like everything else the priest owned, it was worn and old and never failed to remind him of his impoverished upbringing. 

Olivier's family had no qualms in reminding the young cleric of his lowly status in society whenever they spoke to him. Olivier came from a family of fortune and yet he never breathed a word of it nor looked down upon the priest for being poor. The priest wondered how someone so decent could have come from a family of vipers.

The priest walked up to the front door and knocked on the door with his knuckles. He glanced around the street as he waited. There was hardly a soul save for a mother and her child walking hand in hand. They paid him no mind.

The front door opened and Olivier's lean figure stood in its doorway, his face beaming at the priest. The soldier was dressed in a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks and socks. He must have just gotten out of a bath fairly recently as his hair was damp and flattened down by moisture. Olivier looked cleanly and impeccable and the priest was suddenly self-conscious of his own cloak and worn cassock that he had to make several repairs to over the years.

Olivier smiled and drew the priest into his arms, embracing him tightly. The priest's hands came to rest on Olivier's shoulder blades and he leaned into the soldier. Olivier's shirt smelled of laundry detergent and beneath lay the lingering scent of soap on his skin.

"I was beginning to think you'd never show up," Olivier chuckled. "I'm glad you're here."

Olivier stepped to the side to allow the priest entry and closed the door behind him. In an odd outburst of courage, the priest eagerly leaned forward and kissed Olivier on the mouth.

The soldier laughed. "I missed you too."

The priest blushed and fumbled to get his cloak and shoes off before following Olivier into the living room, his overnight bag forgotten in the front hallway. The interior of the cottage was in far better shape than the outside though it was quite eclectic in its decor. Various paintings and picture frames with photos of Olivier's relatives and places he'd been, the furniture looked elegant and finely made, exposed wooden beams ran across the ceiling and the walls were covered in pale floral wallpaper.

Olivier vaguely gestured around the room. "My mother insisted that the place needed 'a woman's touch' and wouldn't hear a word otherwise, hence the throw pillows and extra rubbish."

"I like it." The priest smiled.

They sat down on the sofa before the hearth where the remnants of a fire still smoldered. The priest laid a hand on Olivier's knee and the soldier smiled softly at the gesture.

"Where in Morocco are you going to be?" The priest asked.

"I haven't a clue. The army is very secretive about such things. They shuffle us around and then won't breath a word of where and why, it's maddening at times."

"Do you like soldiering?"

"I don't mind it. It keeps me out of trouble and away from the petty drama at the Chateau," Olivier laughed. "As you know well enough."

Olivier tilted his head. "Do you like being priest?"

The priest considered the question. No, he didn't always like being a priest. He found people to be rude, selfish, blasphemous and extremely petty at times. Ambricourt was the first parish he had ever been assigned to and if Ambricourt was any indication of how both Christendom and the world were, then life as a priest was going to be grim indeed. Nonetheless, he strongly believed in his duties to his Saviour and to the salvation of souls and had faith that God knew better than him. He believed that he was apart of something much greater than he was and he had a role to play. Only God knew the grand scheme of things and he trusted His wisdom.

In his usual soft-spoken way, the priest tried to explain his thoughts the best he could while Olivier nodded along and fiddled with his hair. It was terribly distracting but the priest didn't have the heart to tell Olivier to stop. The soldier began to toy with his collar, curiously touching its linen surface. His fingers were just barely touching the priest's throat.

The giddy feeling that he had had when he rode with Olivier several weeks ago returned. Only this time it was most definitely coming from the man next to him, he couldn't deny it any longer. The two met each other's heated gaze. The priest briefly glanced at Olivier's mouth before he abandoned all caution and leaned in to kiss him. Olivier met him halfway and cupped the priest's thin face in his hands as their lips met.

Olivier's hands roamed over the priest's body, causing the priest to softly moan in the back of his throat. The priest mirrored Olivier's movements, his hands eagerly exploring the soldier's body through his clothes. It was obvious that Olivier was quite muscular from his years as a soldier and the thought of seeing his body in its truest form excited the priest.

The priest hiked up the skirt of his cassock so that it was above his knees and Olivier snaked his hand under the holy man's vestment. The soldier boldly ran a hand up the cleric's thigh and palmed the priest's hardening manhood. The priest grinded his hips into Olivier's hand as the soldier rubbed him. He was reminded of how out of control he felt the last time he had kissed Olivier only this was more intense and somewhat terrifying because of it. No wonder lust is warned to be one of the most destructive sins when it is so easy to lose one's bearings to it. Olivier's insistence on sucking on his bottom lip and licking into the holy man's mouth was not helping matters. His trousers were causing him discomfort and he had half a mind to push Olivier's hand away so he could remove them.

Olivier suddenly broke away from the kiss and removed his hand. The priest whimpered at the loss of contact.

"Let's go to my room." Olivier whispered with hooded eyes.

The men stood and walked down the hallway to Olivier's room. The priest clung onto the soldier's hand tightly as if he was afraid the other man would try to leave him. 

The priest was torn between stopping and surrendering to his desire for Olivier. He was fairly certain he was in love with the handsome soldier and the thought both frightened and thrilled him. He was risking his very soul by being with Olivier and yet he found himself unable to resist the object of his affections anymore. Not that he would have wanted to. He was going to die soon and here he was being presented the opportunity to be with the man who had stolen his heart.

They entered Olivier's bedroom and the soldier immediately drew the priest to him. Olivier kissed him briefly before stepping back.

"Strip for me, Father."

The priest paused, a little taken aback by the request. He quickly regained his composure and his hands flew to his frascia. He nervously untied his frascia and and removed his collar while Olivier watched him salaciously. He unbuttoned his cassock, his hands shaking, and allowed the long garment fall off his shoulders and onto the floor. He was about to unbutton his shirt before Olivier stepped forward and laid a hand on his wrist.

"May I?"

The priest nodded. The last time someone had undressed or even aided him in dressing was his mother when he was a boy. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he held up them up awkwardly so that they were out of Olivier's way before he slowly brought them to a rest on the soldier's biceps.

The priest's and Olivier's shirt soon joined the cassock on the floor. Olivier's calloused hands ran over the priest's ribs and chest, causing gooseflesh to rise along the cleric's arms. The priest returned the affection and they quickly stripped out of the remainder of their clothing before falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

The young priest was suddenly struck with revulsion regarding his own nudity. Olivier's body was beautiful and he couldn't help but compare himself to his lover. Everything about Olivier from his hair, to the angular contours of his face, to his broad shoulders and chest, down to his abdomen and erection, and his strong legs. He must have looked awful compared to the soldier, but judging by the admiration in Olivier's eyes, the priest's insecurities were unfounded.

The holy man blindly followed Olivier's lead, gently teasing his lover as well as he could. He had no idea what he was doing but he wanted to please Olivier and they spent some time discovering what kind of touch the other liked and didn't like.

"How far do you want to take this?" Olivier asked breathlessly against his skin as he laid open mouthed kisses against the priest's throat. 

"Take me Olivier. Please." The priest quickly looked away and his shoulders hunched in embarrassment, appalled that he said something so shameless. His desire to become one with Olivier overruled any arbitrary sense of Christian propriety it would seem.

Olivier disentangled himself from his partner to fetch a rubber and lubricant and quickly returned to bed. Olivier grabbed a pillow and encouraged the priest to raise his hips slightly so the pillow could be placed under his pelvis. He prepped his lover for what was to come, reducing the inexperienced man to a delirious mess.

When the two finally joined together, the priest slowly let go of his shyness and allowed himself to submit to the feelings Olivier was giving him. In the back of his mind he knew he was committing a grave sin by breaking his vows but he found himself unable to care much. Not when his body was trembling from the pleasure he felt and Olivier sounded and looked so beautiful above him.

The priest cried out and dug his fingernails into Olivier's skin as he and the soldier reached their peeks. His eyes watered from the unfamiliar sensations that possessed his body and from the soul-crushing realization that he and Olivier could never be together the way they wanted, that their time together was temporary. The priest had no idea if he would see Olivier again in Heaven and if they did, he doubted their relationship would be the same. How could God be so malicious? How God could deny His children something so wonderful?

The couple laid together on Olivier's bed, their breath slowly returning to a calmer pace. Olivier removed his condom and wiped the priest's chest clean of ejaculate before throwing both items out and laying back down. He noticed the priest was shivering and suggested that they lie under the blankets. They lay facing each other as Olivier's fingers traced the shell of the priest's ear before trailing down his cheek to his jaw and down his throat before running back and forth along his collarbone.

The priest wanted to stay there and bask in Olivier's attention for as long as possible. He smiled softly at Olivier and leaned in to kiss him. The soldier returned the affection eagerly and the two burst into a fit of childish giggles. The priest couldn't remember the last time he had felt so happy. 

The priest realized that he had yet to tell Olivier about his cancer diagnosis. He frowned as he considered how he was going to break the news. He hated the thought of tainting their time together with something so morbid.

Olivier's face went from being contented and love-drunk to concerned. "What's wrong? Do you regret this?"

"No, it isn't that," The cleric said. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Don't keep me in suspense." Olivier gently teased.

The priest couldn't bear to look Olivier in the face as he spoke so he toyed with the edge of the blanket with one hand and kept his eyes locked on his fingers. "I went to see Dr. Laville a few days ago on account of stomach pain that I've been having. I haven't been able to eat properly in months due to the pain and like the stubborn, prideful fool that I am, I kept putting off seeing a doctor."

"Laville checked me over, did some x-rays and found what the problem was." The priest paused then forced himself to look Olivier in the eye. "I have an aggressive, inoperable tumour in my stomach and its quite advanced in its development."

The priest blinked rapidly as tears formed in his eyes. "I'm going to die soon Olivier. I won't live to see your return from Morocco."

Olivier winced as if the priest had struck him. He furrowed his brow and bit his lip before taking a lengthy breath to steady himself. Try as he might, his eyes became glassy-looking and it pained the priest to see Olivier in such agony. 

Olivier grasped one of the the priest's hands and kissed it. "You should have seen a doctor sooner, Father. They could have saved your life."

"Dr. Laville wants me to return to his office next week so he can take me to the hospital," The priest said quietly. "I don't think there's any use in it."

"You should go," Olivier squeezed the priest's hand. "They'll at least prescribe some morphia for you."

The cleric shook his head. He didn't like the idea of being in a drugged stupour for the last few months of his life. What dignity was there in that?

"Why are you priests so determined to make yourselves suffer?" Olivier asked incredulously.

The priest wasn't sure how to answer that. He could tell the soldier about how priests must embody Christ on earth and therefore take any suffering they experience in stride. They must take their pain and suffering with dignity and die in grace as an example to others but how could he get Olivier to understand? God was ending his earthly existence for a reason though the priest could only speculate on why. What could he say to make Olivier understand and accept that?

Seeing he would get no answer to his question, Olivier sighed. "Please promise me that you'll at least go to the hospital and let the doctors help you."

The priest hesitated, remembering the warnings against making false promises that his faith had taught him many years ago. Then he realized that for Olivier's sake, he would keep any promise for him and eventually smiled warmly at the soldier. "Yes, I promise."

This seemed to placate Olivier somewhat.

They laid under the blankets talking and softly caressing each other for some time. They made love again. The priest wanted to swap places with Olivier and after some convincing, Olivier relented. He was fine with bottoming but was worried that the priest would hurt himself in his frail condition. 

Their lovemaking was slower and far more tender than their initial coupling with plenty of eye contact and sweet nothings whispered. The priest would never forget the sound of Olivier's voice in the throes of passion. He knew he would pay dearly for the physical activity he had put his body through later that night and into the next day but he didn't care. 

Sore and spent, the lovers finally got up and redressed. The priest cringed at the wrinkles in his cassock but he could easily iron the garment and it would look presentable once more. The sky outside Olivier's window was beginning to darken, perhaps it was high time for the priest to go home.

"Can you stay for supper?" Olivier asked.

The priest smiled. "Yes. I'd love to."

He wanted to stay forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never really written anything remotely smutty in my life so I honestly hope the love scenes in this didn't come across as awkward and clunky.


End file.
